The Unofficial Memoirs of Jack O'Neill
by element78
Summary: Lorne's story, bittersweet as it is, told with help from O'Neill's scribblings. Tag-ish to The Last Man, kinda sorta but not really an SG-1 crossover.


_The day we met, Hammond asked me if I'd ever considered writing my memoirs. I told him I'd have to kill anyone who read it if I did- joke, of course, and inappropriate under the circumstances, but nobody had told me about the aliens coming through the Stargate yet. Mostly, I didn't want to write any memoirs because I didn't have anything I wanted to share. I still don't. But now, I need to._

Sometimes, when he's got a quiet moment to sit and remember better times, Lorne thinks about the men who came before him. Hammond, who was captain of the great lumbering ship that was the SGC during her youth. Landry, who stood face-to-face with the enemy in his own base and smiled. O'Neill, who simply cannot be described in one sentence. Sheppard.

Especially Sheppard.

Hammond he hadn't known so well. True, he'd been on an SG team, but that had been in the period of his life he now calls BA- Before Atlantis. Before those brief, golden years and the long, bitter, downhill slide that followed them. Back then a CO was a CO, Dammit, and not someone to get chummy with. The good little soldier that had been Major Lorne had nodded at Hammond before walking through the gate, presented him a report after returning, and didn't even think about meaningful interactions.

So no, he hadn't known Hammond. But he'd respected the hell out of the man; still does. He's dealing now with the sort of shit Hammond dealt with back then, only Lorne has experience and practice and the 'something like this has happened before and this is what they did' to fall back on. Hammond had been brave in a way most people simply couldn't understand; to be the man standing in the control room, watching and waiting, handing out orders without the faintest idea if he's doing the right thing, unable to get out there and _do something_.

_I felt like a vending machine sometimes. Insert scenario, receive commands. No explanations necessary, exact change preferred but not expected. You probably will too, to which I say: get used to it. You're 'too valuable' to risk, which is a sick joke since you don't actually do anything._

Landry, naturally, he'd been more familiar with. The man had settled into Hammond's empty shoes uncomfortably, that first year with Atlantis. Lorne had been on Earth, preparing to leave with the _Daedalus_, and hadn't paid him much attention.

The time for Landry to shine came later, during and after Atlantis. The man fought and railed for weeks at the idea of abandoning the city. Lorne became his go-to man in Pegasus, around Carter when she was alive. When they finally tucked tail and ran, Landry had given the Pegasus stragglers time to adjust to the shock of defeat. He'd held the psychiatrists and bureaucrats at bay and allowed the last of the Atlanteans to fade into the SGC's background.

Lorne hadn't inherited the SGC command chair from him, but the ones who came between where all stop-gaps who barely lasted long enough to get their names on the door, more often than not written out on a piece of scotch taped slapped over the discolored patch where permanent name tags hung.

And O'Neill- O'Neill was O'Neill, and there's nothing Lorne can say about him that hasn't already been said by someone else, only better. Except for one thing: Jack O'Neill was a scribbler.

He'd found the notebook in his desk. It was one of the three-subject, five-hundred pages jobs, and it was mostly filled up with what amounted to O'Neill's autobiography. It was his life, written out in fits and starts, interspersed with philosophical meanderings disguised as sarcastic observations and rich throughout with the general's trademark humor. The red permanent marker on the cover- not O'Neill's handwriting- declares it for the SGC's commander's eyes only, but the writing on the first page reads:

_To whoever it may concern- _

_I like to pretend we did more good than harm. I know I'm wrong. If you don't want to end up living with that, read this. Pay attention. And good luck._

O'Neill went out with a whimper, not the bang everyone expected of him- Carter's death broke him, the same way Teyla's death broke McKay and Ronon. He retired and moved out to a house on the lake and wasn't heard from again. Lorne only knows he's dead because Teal'c and Daniel Jackson went to the funeral. Neither of them came back.

_These stars are heavy. They clipped my wings. Being promoted was one of the worst best things to happen to me, ever. 'Congratulations', they're saying to me. 'You've gotten too old to be trustworthy with a plane or your own damn team, so we're putting you somewhere else, where you can't hurt someone'. Don't get promoted. _

The day they buried Sheppard's empty casket, Lorne was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. The day they left Atlantis, he was promoted to full Colonel. It felt like he was being placated, offered shiny new lapel décor to take the sting from the loss. It felt like they were trying to buy him off so he didn't leave after each new disaster.

Sheppard was a running joke amongst the SGC, back in the day. A hero, the black sheep. A man who stepped into the wormhole in Earth year 2008 AD and won't step back out again until 50,008 AD. He's in transit. He's a man lost in time. He'll die there, most people believe, in the Atlantis of the future, probably without ever knowing what happened or why. Lorne doesn't believe it. Not the no-idea-what-happened part; the man won't have a clue. The dying part.

In some ways, Lorne's grateful Sheppard was never general material. In those early days, just after his disappearance, it felt like Lorne was trying to take his place. Now he's somewhere Sheppard had never dreamed to be, and it feels less like betrayal.

_There's always gonna be someone out there, someone tougher and smarter and stronger than you. Sorry. That's just the way it is. Also, sorry again, but you're out of ass-kicking good guys to hide behind. For what it's worth, the Tollans tried to kill us, the Nox are never gonna help you, and the Asgard- well. They did what they could, and they went out with style. I'm gonna miss those little guys. Some of them. Most of them, maybe. Definitely Thor._

Michael's first foray into the Milky Way is rebuffed. It costs the _Apollo_. His second attempt, he encounters the Ori. It doesn't really end well for either party. Lorne doesn't celebrate with his people that night, thinking instead of the inevitable third try. Michael learns fast and carries a grudge.

He wishes he knew more about Michael, about the Wraith in general. Everyone who would know- Teyla, Ronon, Beckett- is dead. So Lorne falls back to the one man all of Atlantis could always count on.

Rodney McKay isn't a living person. He's a force of nature. Lorne sometimes feels his heart break a little whenever he looks at McKay nowadays- the man was a hurricane, back in his heyday, only he hit land and now he's little more than a snarly thunderstorm limping along. The pain and despair and outrage and confusion are all written across his face- he had everything, only the universe took it all back. Lorne remembers the day he told McKay, point blank, about Ronon. The look in those blue eyes had been one of quiet expectation. He had known Ronon was gone because Ronon had been all he'd had left.

Sheppard's old team, Atlantis' flagship team, whittled down to one tired, broken man.

When Lorne had heard about McKay and Keller, he'd been both relieved and jealous, oddly enough for the same reason: at least someone was getting a happy ending out of this intergalactic train wreck. Except not; he heard about Keller later, and had called McKay without any real consideration of what he planned to say. McKay's social skills were pitiful enough that he didn't notice the soldier's floundering, thankfully, and had instead snapped and snarled and hung up on him.

People always underestimate McKay. He's whiny and bitchy and petty and self-centered and the bravest, most loyal man Lorne knows. Lorne's pretty sure he knows what McKay's up to- the general idea, if not the specific details- and knows Sheppard isn't going to die in that unknown future.

When Lorne told him about the _Apollo_ and the Ori, McKay went quiet in that shut-up-and-let-the-genius-think way of his. They met for lunch and McKay told him everything he knew about Wraith hive ships and engine varieties and weapons and shields and Lorne almost fell asleep and planted his face into his salad. Eventually McKay agreed to talk to the science department- "remember I don't work for the SGC anymore, Major, so you can't just order me to- what? General? Huh. Good for you."- and Lorne sends him out to Area 51 with a wish for luck and a silent apology to everyone in southern Nevada.

McKay called him twice to inform him that the scientists there are rampaging idiots and he really expected more of his fellow Atlantean. Then McKay disappears to work on whatever he's working on that Lorne pretends to know nothing about.

_Secrecy is vital to the SGC. If people knew about the psycho aliens on the doorstep, they'd freak, and we'd have a mob six billion strong on our hands. There have been a few leaks in my day- once someone killed a reporter right in front of me. Pretty sure it was on purpose. Keep a lid on it, kids. Ignorance is the average Earthlings' greatest weapon._

Lorne plans the public reveal of the great fuck-up that is the Stargate Program for the twenty-fifth anniversary of the abandoning of Atlantis. The irony appeals to him. The IOA still doesn't want to tell anyone, but Michael's newest armada has reached the halfway point, slowly but surely obliterating the Milky Way, and Lorne figures Earth's got two years, tops.

They'll put up a fight- rolling over and dying isn't something the people of Earth have ever been good at. They might even win this round; the Antarctic chair will be a nasty surprise and they have a new ship. But Michael will simply launch another wave, and another, until they're overwhelmed. He's got time and a galaxy's worth of resources.

The hard part, he figures, will be telling the world they're all about to die at the hands of a monster created by some of the best men he ever knew.

"Sir?" the sergeant's voice comes over the comm line, quavering with- fear? Lorne pushes his paperwork aside and frowns at the little cell-phone-like gizmo. New technology, mixing Ancient know-how with human innovation. There's a lot of that, these final days.

"Yes, sergeant," he says encouragingly.

"There's a Mr. McKay- Doctor! Doctor McKay here to see you."

"Send him in, son," Lorne smiles, and the kid stammers something unintelligible. No doubt he's relieved McKay is leaving him alone, and Lorne finds it both amusing and comforting that the guy can still scare the crap out of baby soldiers.

Then a throat clears itself in the doorway, and Lorne rises to his feet with a surprisingly warm smile.

_Be bitter. Be angry. It won't change anything. It won't make you feel better. Hate yourself and the world and all the bad things in it. You won't sleep at night. Regret every bad decision you've ever made. You won't get to redo them. In the end, and understand I hate these stupid clichés, all you can do is your best._

Lorne watches the wormhole wink out of existence. Rodney McKay, a surprisingly good man, has gone home. One more person Lorne will never see again.

That night he jogs, despite his body's nonstop protests. Something's still missing- his feet slap on concrete, not metal. The air tastes of pine sap and pollution, not salt water. The sounds of traffic and people are all around him, not the sound of waves and Marines chanting dirty limericks as they gallop along.

He runs from everything, until he can't run anymore and then pushes himself a little farther. He prays with each breath, prays that McKay is right, one final time.

Then he turns around and heads home, to the shattered pieces of so many lives, preparing for the end of days, waiting for time to rearrange itself around him.


End file.
